Fathers and Sons
by Hawkslayer
Summary: Alternate version of the fight in 10.2 with Sasha and Anatoly. Plenty of father/son bonding in later chapters. Please R&R
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! Sorry for the lack of updates to Surviving, I will update soon, I promise! This is a fic brought about by me watching Season 10 again and thinking that we need more father/son bonding for Sasha and Harry. So, this is a re-write of the fight in episode 2 between Sasha and Anatoly, with plenty of father/son moments to follow in later chapters. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own Spooks, but if anyone wants to give me Sasha then I'd be happy.**

Sasha saw Anatoly's fist fly towards him just in time; he ducked to the side, bringing his knee up to strike Anatoly in the stomach as he did so. His friend doubled over but recovered quickly. He lunged towards Sasha, his shoulder catching him in the stomach and knocking him back into the wall of the corridor. His breath was expelled in a gasp and he struggled to take in more oxygen. Anatoly got to his feet and aimed a kick at Sasha's rib cage. Pain blossomed in his chest but he pushed it to the back of his mind and he scrambled out of Anatoly's reach, using the wall to support himself as he stood. He and Anatoly sized each other up for a moment. A glint of silver in the other man's hand caught Sasha's eye. A knife. He was immediately on his guard, trying to predict Anatoly's next move. He had trained with the man so often that he knew his fighting style. Anatoly was a careful fighter, every move planned three steps ahead and perfectly controlled. He was Sasha's polar opposite; Sasha was a more impulsive fighter, going with the flow of the fight. Both were excellent fighters in their own way and in a fair fight were relatively evenly matched. However, the presence of the knife made things far more unpredictable.

Anatoly moved first, making a short jab with the knife at Sasha's chest. Sasha blocked it, knocking his arm away with an open handed strike to the elbow. Although the aim of the knife was deflected, it still caught Sasha's arm, cutting a shallow slash across his forearm. The injury was inconsequential so Sasha ignored it and focused on the knife coming towards him once more. This time he went on the offensive. Deflecting the knife, he slammed his elbow into the side of Anatoly's head. While the other man was disorientated, he hooked his arm around his neck, the crook of his arm putting pressure on Anatoly's windpipe. He struggled, throwing Sasha back against the wall. His grip didn't loosen however; he leant back against the wall and pulled back with all his strength.

He had forgotten about the knife. All his attention had been so focused on putting pressure on Anatoly's throat that he had been distracted. That distraction cost him dearly; Anatoly, with the last of his strength, buried the knife in Sasha's side before going limp in his grasp.

Gasping, Sasha slid down the wall, not letting go of his grip on Anatoly. His head fell back against the brick of the wall and he tried to catch his breath. Once he had sufficiently recovered he felt for a pulse at Anatoly's neck. The beat was absent and Sasha felt a wave of grief wash over him. He knew that he had had no choice, that it had been kill or be killed, but Anatoly had been his friend. He pushed the body away from him, trying to think of his next move.

First he had to assess the damage done by the knife. He didn't think it had hit any vital organs but blood was pouring out steadily. He knew that with that volume of blood loss it was only a matter of time before he passed out.

Then there was the problem of the body. Wincing as the movement pulled at the wound in his side, he reached for his mobile. He hesitated for a moment, doubting the wisdom of his actions, but eventually dialled Harry's number. He held the phone to his ear.

"Sasha?" Harry's voice sounded surprised as he answered the phone.

"I need your help," Sasha told him, not wasting time with pleasantries. "Meet me in the backstage corridor."

He hung up without giving Harry time to reply. He returned his attention to the knife. He couldn't let Harry know that he had been injured. He pulled the knife from his side in one swift movement, hissing through his teeth at the white hot flash of pain. He knew that removing the knife went against every first aid practice he had ever been taught but currently it was more important to hide the injury. He adjusted his jacket so that it hid the tear in his shirt, the dark fabric hiding the bloodstain. He could not afford for Harry to worry about the wrong thing; right now he just needed help to get rid of the evidence. Blood loss and shock were hindering his ability to think, he felt strangely disconnected, as though he were watching everything unfold through someone else's eyes.

Slowly he pushed himself up, blinking fast to try to clear his vision as black spots swam in front of his eyes.

"Sasha?" Harry had arrived. "What's going on?" He motioned to the body on the floor.

Sasha gritted his teeth against the pain and grief that flowed through him. "His name was Anatoly Arkanov. I had no choice, he... He was going to expose my mother, I had to protect her." He took a deep breath, pushing away his emotions. "You need to help me clear this up."

Harry regarded him coolly for a few moments, an appraising stare that befitted the Head of Section D, then nodded. "We need to get rid of the body," he mused, half to himself. "People will be coming down this corridor soon, we should move it to another location now."

Sasha inclined his head in agreement and as Harry moved to pick up Anatoly's legs he bent to lift his torso. The movement turned out to be a mistake; his side erupted in renewed pain and his vision went black.

Harry looked up from his position at the feet of the body at the sound of a pained gasp, just in time to see Sasha waver then collapse. He rushed to the young Russian's side, taking in the pale features and closed eyes. His gaze was drawn to a glistening wet stain on Sasha's shirt which had been revealed as his collapse had caused his jacket to fall open. Blood was steadily pulsing from a ragged wound in his side. With one hand, Harry pressed down hard on the injury, with the other, he pulled out his mobile and hit the speed dial for the Grid. Dimitri answered.

"Harry? Where are you?"

"Dimitri, get down to the opera house as soon as possible, we need a cleanup. We have one dead body and an injured FSB officer."

"The opera house? What's going on?"

"Dimitri, if you don't hurry, Sasha is going to be another dead body."

Harry heard Dimitri's intake of breath. "Sasha Gavrik? Ilya Gavrik's son?"

_No, my son, _Harry thought, but instead answered, "Yes, and I don't want to have to tell the Gavriks that their son died because of our slow response. It might throw a spanner in the works of the negotiations, don't you think?"

"Callum and I are on our way. We'll be there as soon as we can."

Harry hung up, letting the phone drop to the ground as he pressed his fingers to Sasha's throat, trying to find a pulse. It was there but weak, his skin was cold. He thought of the first aid courses he had been forced to attend, remembering the symptoms of shock. But how did one treat shock?

Raise his legs, Harry remembered, resisting the urge to smack his forehead. He was not supposed to panic, he had to remain calm and rational. Reluctantly he removed his hand from the wound, feeling sick at the blood covering his hand in a red glove, and shrugged off his coat and jacket. He folded them and placed them under Sasha's feet, elevating his legs. He quickly returned to Sasha's side, pressing his hands over the wound. Despite what he told Dimitri, his worry was not only political. He felt a sense of responsibility towards Sasha, though he could never know that he was Harry's son. It showed how screwed up their lives were that their first father/son bonding time was over a dead body.

Harry frowned, something was wrong. He scanned Sasha's face, he was too still. Fear gripping at his heart, Harry bent closer, listening for breathing and watching Sasha's chest for the rise and fall that should be there but was absent. Harry's training kicked in immediately, he began CPR, detaching himself from the situation. Thirty chest compressions, tilt back the head, extend the airway, two breaths, back to chest compressions... When Sasha finally coughed painfully and took a laboured breath, Harry sat back, oddly exhausted. He had not realised how tiring CPR was. He took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment of rest before he once again placed his hands over the injury and pressed down with his whole weight. Now, not only his hands but his shirt was soaked in blood. Harry did not want to consider the implications of such a large volume of blood loss. He could only hope that Dimitri arrived soon.

He did, barely two minutes after Harry had revived Sasha, Callum trailing unenthusiastically behind him. The young techie's eyebrows shot up at the sight that greeted him, the body of a man lying on the floor, a bloody knife nearby and Harry leaning over the young FSB officer whom he had met at the diplomatic reception and who now appeared to be very badly wounded. Harry wasted no time in barking out his orders.

"Callum, help me get Sasha to the car. Dimitri, get rid of this mess."

"What..?"

"Callum, just do it." Harry let a little steel enter his voice; it had the desired effect, the officer raised his eyebrows but obeyed the order and helped Harry to lift the motionless body of the FSB officer. They laid him on the back seat of the Range Rover. Callum climbed into the driver's seat; Harry sat in the back with Sasha's head and shoulders resting on his lap, his hands pressed against the still bleeding wound.

"Get us there fast, Callum."

**Sooo... Love it? Hate it? Please review, constructive criticism is welcome, but no flames please! **


	2. Chapter 2

**I know, I'm a bad person for leaving you hanging for so long. If anyone's still reading this, I hope you enjoy this chapter. This will probably be updated every few days now; I promise you won't be waiting for months for the next update. Thank you to all who reviewed: NatesDate, zulu-ottawa, pook, Mtn Cousin, Lord Horatio Augusta, Anon and Kiarnala233**

Harry was inwardly worried for the young man whose blood now soaked his clothes and skin, but he could not afford to show it. The only concern he could show was regarding the diplomatic consequences of the incident.

Harry sighed in resignation; he would have to inform Ilya Gavrik of his son's injury. His fingers hovered for a second over his phone before he pressed the buttons that would dial Ilya's number. Gavrik picked up on the fifth ring. His voice was terse.

"Yes?"

Harry took a second to control his voice before speaking. "Ilya... There has been an...incident. Sasha is injured. We are taking him to St Thomas's hospital."

There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the phone. When he spoke, Gavrik's voice wavered. "How badly is he hurt?"

Harry glance at Sasha; his face was almost corpselike in its pallor and the copious amount of blood that covered his and Harry's shirt did nothing to dispel that image. Only the slow and slightly laboured rise and fall of Sasha's chest reassured him that his charge still lived. "He's lost a lot of blood. We're nearly at the hospital." Harry hesitated a moment. "He'll be alright, Ilya." The platitude felt strange as he said it, as though he could taste the hollowness of the words.

"I will be there soon," Gavrik said shakily.

Harry hung up and sighed drawing a glance from Callum. "how's he doing?" the techie asked.

"Not good," Harry frowned. "The knife must have done some internal damage."

Callum glanced at him again in the rearview mirror. "So how did those two end up fighting? I mean they're both FSB. Aren't they usually on the same side?"

Harry was spared answering as the car pulled up in front of the hospital and Callum ran inside to fetch help. He thought he knew exactly why the two FSB officers had been trying to kill each other and the idea caused a wave of guilt to wash over him. The idea that Sasha, his son, might die because of his actions horrified him.

The car door was wrenched open as Callum ran back out of the hospital, followed by hospital attendants with a trolley. They manoeuvred Sasha's still body onto the trolley, one of the attendants taking over from Harry in applying pressure to the wound. Harry followed the medical team into the hospital as they whisked their patient into a treatment room. He was stopped by a white haired nurse.

"You can't go in there sir. Someone will inform you of his condition soon. Are you family?"

Harry hesitated. "I... No, I'm an old friend."

"Are you able to give us any information? His name?"

"Yes, of course. His name's Gavrik, Sasha Gavrik. I've informed his family, they should be here..."

"Harry!"

Ilya Gavrik's shout echoed through the hospital corridors. He ran towards the head of Section D, followed by Elena Gavrik. Both looked frantic, Elena had mascara running down her cheeks and Ilya was pale, his hands clenched into fists.

"Where is he? Where is my son?" Gavrik gasped. In that moment, Harry couldn't see him as his old Cold War enemy; instead, all he could see was a terrified father.

"The doctors are taking care of him, Ilya," Harry said softly.

The nurse stepped forward. "Sir, we need some information about your son. Can you come with me to fill out some forms? The doctors will be able to talk to you shortly."

Gavrik nodded as though in a trance and followed the nurse towards the desk, leaving Harry and Elena alone.

"Harry..." she started, but he interrupted.

"Elena, this happened because of us. Because of your association with me," Harry said quietly. His voice was sharp and Elena visibly flinched.

"What do you mean, Harry?" she asked.

He glanced down the corridor, making sure that Ilya wasn't returning. "One of Sasha's FSB colleagues discovered that you worked for me once. He followed us to the opera house and Sasha tried to stop him. They fought. He stabbed Sasha before Sasha killed him. He got hurt protecting you, Elena." Harry realised how accusatory his words were but couldn't help it, his guilt and worry for Sasha overtook any tact he might have employed.

"Harry, we had to meet. There was no other choice."

Harry stared at his old lover, unable to believe that she could be so unconcerned about her son. "Elena, our mistake could cost your son his life!"

This worked, Elena's eyes filled with renewed tears which spilled down her cheeks. Harry instantly regretted his words and put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt at comforting her. He realised that her previous defensive words were probably denial, not wanting to believe that she had been the reason that Sasha was dying.

"Harry..."

"Elena?" Ilya Gavrik had returned. He wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders. "Has the doctor told you anything yet?"

"No," she replied. "We are still waiting."

Gavrik nodded. "Harry, I want to thank you for everything you have done for Sasha. Bringing him here... We have not always been friendly but I am indebted to you for helping my son."

Harry shook his head. "That's not necessary, Ilya. I couldn't let him die..." He swallowed hard, trying to dispel the feeling of guilt and worry.

"That may be true, but I am still grateful."

The three of them looked over as the door of the treatment room open and a doctor came out.

"Mr Gavrik?" Ilya nodded, unable to speak and the doctor continued. "Your son is in critical condition. We've stabilised him enough to take him to surgery but I won't lie to you, sir. His chances aren't good. He has lost a lot of blood and although we're trying to replace it through transfusions, he's losing blood faster than we can replace it."

Elena broke down in renewed tears and the blood drained from Ilya's face. Just then, the door opened and a medical team pushed the stretcher past Harry and the Gavriks. Harry couldn't help but stare at Sasha's still form. He looked even worse than he had in the car.

"Sasha..." Elena gasped. She tried to follow the stretcher but was held back by her husband.

"A nurse will show you to the surgical waiting room," the doctor said. "I have to get to the operating theatre, excuse me."

Harry stared at the retreating back of the doctor and wondered how things had gone so badly wrong.

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter, despite the delay. Please leave a review, it means a lot to me to know what you think. **


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